Stretching

Girl sees orange.
No more little heartaches,
she’s got ambition baby.
That’s a new type of accessory.
Gonna save the world?
Gonna right the wrongs?
Gonna make it right?
Gonna have it all?
Gonna, gonna, gonna,
gonna try?
She arches up into life
one arm extended outward,
one holding her steady—
is, is, is, is.

Waking Up

What’s it with supermarkets?
The car started to pull backward into traffic…
And that’s the third movie star,
who do you want to be?
The car slid back into traffic…
He laughed,
“I’ll tell you later,”
but he didn’t.
Where are you?
In bed.
Are you asleep?
If I was asleep, I’d hang up on you.
What are you wearing?
Let’s don’t.
What wouldn’t Margaret do?
Obsess about insignificant details in what is the overall purpose of life…
Well, actually that seems a pretty accurate…
Alright already.
The car was backing up into traffic,
but no one was driving.
He wasn’t driving,
he was sitting next to me
and aging as I spoke to him.
But I was trying.
Is there a why now?
The autistic girl organized her songs by color.
She’s really into scent.
Oh. Yeah.
That was,
will I again?
Just to prove the other one wrong.
Why did she say that?
She didn’t get it.
I wanted the real experience.
Why not?
You’re right, it’s appropriate,
our first time having sex
and I’m alone.
Just get up so you can brush your teeth already.
Where was I,
was his brother in this one?
I was in the supermarket again?
Then the car. Sitting in the backseat,
backing into traffic…
Call one, call two,
that smell.
Things like that soak into my skin.
Maybe they’ll mention me by name
when they call.
Call one, call two,
get up already.
Money, food, drugs,
life,
get up.

The Image

I’m flushed.
Is the wind howling?
Did I stumble over my words?
Did his hand brush against mine?

My lip stains the napkin red.
Was it the excitement of the hunt?
Did they use too much novocain?
Did I forget to block?

My eyes are framed in black.
Am I descended from pharaohs?
Is my spirit guide a deer?
Am I someone’s doll?

Away from the mirror,
but still in the image,
is it my face or my life
that’s made up.

I, Meme, Mine

My fellow turtle wrangler (Influx Transposer) has tagged me. Apparently some literary game of blog tag has landed on my linkable doorstep. The tossed gauntlet in question is being called a meme, or a story encapsulated is six words. Below are my attempts at brevity. I can’t resist throwing around my trivial knowledge at this point: The story goes that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six word missive and declared it his greatest short story. And so the meme began…
Oh, and to perpetuate the madness, Valley Ninja, I’m calling you out of retirement. Tag!

Earth found unworthy—ooh wait, iPods!

Monkeys steal prosthetic thumbs, rule world.

Cancelled World of Warcraft subscription: Life!

Lonely girl, impotent boy invent cuddling.

Email deleted. Number deleted. Heart hardwired.

She walks labyrinth to find herself.

Random is a hillock near Gibraltar.

Saturday Night

Sitting near the fire,
surrounded by various
shades of love,
I watch and listen
and wait to be fed.
Two votes for,
two votes against,
a handful un-cast.
The only eyes to find mine
are a lifetime too late,
and there only for
the joy of remembering,
not the pain of possibility.
My eyes flick away.
I’m here for the pain.

Me and the Plants

Sunlight is an amazing thing. Yesterday was the eighth day of uncharacteristically icy weather for my little part of the world, and I was awash with depression. Today, the sun is out, the sky is blue, and I’m downright chipper. Yesterday, I dwelled on the distance between myself and friends, obsessed on the people who have hurt me, and thoroughly reviewed my lack of significant love interests. Today, none of those circumstances have changed, but they now seem like the manageable, albeit shaded, aspects of what is an overall happy existence. Yesterday, I told myself that’s all they were, but today I believe it.
Is it really that simple? The weather?
Am I really that simple? Me and the plants—bi-solar?
Perhaps it was my good self-esteem self-assurances coupled with a good night’s rest that did it. Perhaps all I needed was yesterday’s one good cry, the simplest catharsis, to face the world again at full self-reliant strength. Perhaps it’s me after all; I’m not afraid to face my darkness and I’m not afraid to be happy afterwards. I am a well-rounded individual—a little yang, and little yin. Surely, my emotions are as much my fault as the season’s.
All the same, I hope the weather holds.

Texas Sunset